


After Hours

by Fernandidilly_yo



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel
Genre: A sprinkling of angst, Avocados at Law, Because this is Matt we are talking about, Fluff, For the most part, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light-Hearted, Matt Murdock always needs a hug, Post-Season/Series 03, Sleepovers, connected one-shots, domestic stuff, soft moments, they are all trying their best
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-08-26 06:11:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16676044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fernandidilly_yo/pseuds/Fernandidilly_yo
Summary: He’s still trying to figure out how this rekindled friendship is supposed to work between them. There’s a sense of honesty that floats in all the spaces that used to be filled with secrets and lies, and Matt…Matt doesn’t know what to do with that.(Or; some soft moments between Nelson, Murdock, and Page)





	After Hours

**Author's Note:**

> This is set after Season Three, so be aware that there will be spoilers.
> 
> So uh, I am in a deep-seated mourning, with a dash of denial. I was gonna wait to post this until I had chapters two and three finished too, but well, with current events, I decided to post now. 
> 
> **Disclaimer-** If I owned Daredevil it definitely wouldn't have been canceled.

**Piece by Piece-**

The crisp taste of snow fills the air, Matt won’t be surprised if he doesn’t quite make it to the office before it starts coming down.

It’s frigid out, wind whips at Matt’s face and plays with his hair, he tucks his nose down into the scarf Karen gave him, hiding from the elements behind the soft fabric and his glasses.

Today will be their first day in the new Firm officially, though Matt, Karen, and Foggy have already spent a good chunk of time in the building, cleaning the place up and moving in their second-hand furniture before ordering in pizza and eating it together on the floor after a long day of lugging around boxes.

Matt takes the last turn and finds himself grateful when his cane slips on a patch of ice that Matt hadn’t detected. It’s harder to navigate in the Winter. Ice doesn’t translate well into the world on fire, and snow muffles everything, echolocation isn’t as reliable, and Matt finds himself relying on his cane more than he’d like.

He prefers the rain, where each drop helps paint a vivid picture, where the vibration of water washes over everything and Matt is left with a vibrant impression of the world around him.

Matt shoulders open the building’s main door, having to shove against the old hinges that tend to stick in cold weather. He can already hear Foggy and Karen on the second floor, voices happy and animated as they move around.

When Matt steps into their office Karen’s heart does a pleased little flutter in her chest and Foggy’s respiration absolutely _beams_. It’s so odd, it’s so very underserved, to have people show genuine delight just because Matt has walked into the room.

For an instant, just a second, it’s hard to think through the thoughts jumbling Matt’s brain, hard to breathe around all the emotions filling his chest-

Gratitude to his friends, for taking him back, for being here, for staying when no one else ever did.

Disbelief that Matt can have this, that he is allowed to keep the people he loves after all he’s done.

Fear that he doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve _them_ , and then the quick realization that he _doesn’t,_ he doesn’t deserve them, that he never will deserve Foggy and Karen.

“Hey, buddy,” Foggy greets, pulling Matt into an unexpected hug before he starts rubbing Matt’s arms through his coat, making a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. “Man, you’re _freezing,_ Matt,” he says.

Matt shrugs, both in answer and to dislodge Foggy’s hands from his shoulders. “I walked.”

“You walked,” Foggy says, like he’s tasting the words. “He _walked,_ Karen.” He half turns to Karen, glancing over his shoulder.

“What’s wrong with walking?” Matt asks as he sets his cane against the wall, slipping off his coat and gloves and hanging them up.

“It’s _three degrees_ outside,” Foggy bemoans, gesturing to the windows where it has finally started to snow. Matt can hear how the sleet has thickened the wind, a howling sort of noise.

Matt shrugs in response again, unwinding his scarf from around his neck, “I wore a scarf,” he defends himself.

Foggy makes a soft scoffing noise that comes from all the way in his chest. “You, Matthew Murdock, are a glutton for punishment.”

“I’m Catholic Foggy,” Matt says, “we’ve established this.” Matt turns to hang up his scarf in order to hide his smirk as Karen sniggers behind her hand and Foggy groans.

“We have good coffee and doughnuts,” Karen tells Matt, walking over to their kitchenette and grabbing a cup.

Matt takes a sniff, he hadn’t noticed the coffee behind the smell of fresh paint and the scent of cinnamon coming from Karen’s desk (it’s a natural fragrance, because Matt had offhandedly said something about artificial smells giving him headaches- and Karen had taken it upon herself to only use natural oils or products in the office ever-since.

When Matt had brought it up, saying, “I’ve learned to tune out or ignore what’s unnecessary, you don’t have to go through this extra trouble.”

Karen had said, “doesn’t that take a lot of effort though?”

“I’ve had these senses longer than I haven’t, Karen. I don’t need special treatment.” Because Matt didn’t want Karen to buy different cleaning products for him, he didn’t want her to swap out candles and get rid of air-fresheners to help him compensate for his senses.

But Karen replied, “being here shouldn’t be extra work for you, Matt. Being with us shouldn’t feel like a- like a _strain_. This place is as much yours as it is mine or Foggy’s.” And then softer, almost as an afterthought, “you’re allowed to feel comfortable, Matt.”

“Besides,” Karen had gone on, waving a dismissive hand as she turned to walk away, “I like making candles.”)

Karen hands Matt the cup of coffee and Matt takes a grateful sip. “Thank you,” he says, relishing in the way the drink warms his insides and gives his fingers something to do.

Matt takes another sip, savoring the dark brew, rich on his tongue. “This _is_ the good stuff,” he says, and then, “we can’t afford this.” Only mostly joking.

“Thank Marci,” Foggy says, he has his own cup in hand now, taking a lengthy swallow. “Coffee and doughnuts to congratulate us on our first day.”

“Hm,” Matt hums, walking over to inspect the doughnuts. _“Thank you, Marci,”_ he says as he picks up a cream filled one.

* * *

The next day when Matt walks into his office he stops, cocking his head to the side and taking a moment.

There is a couch pushed up under the window, across from his desk, said couch had not been there yesterday.

Matt turns around, listens.

Karen has become very preoccupied with something at her desk, she isn’t acknowledging Matt or his questioning eyebrows whatsoever. Her breathing is noticeably controlled, she is definitely aware that Matt’s senses are pinpointed to her.

Matt waits a minute, hoping he can outlast her in this odd little standoff they are having.

Karen doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch.

Hm.

Matt turns away from her, walking into Foggy’s office instead, he’ll be easier to crack.

Matt’s hit with the fragrance of old spice and shoe polish as he walks through the threshold. There are a few changes in Foggy’s office as well, he’s unpacked the rest of his books, brought a small plant in, and some sort of dense glass (ornament? vase? bowl?) sits in the corner.

“What’s up?” Foggy asks when Matt comes in unprompted.

“There is a couch in my office,” Matt says, giving Foggy a _Look_.

“Huh?” Foggy leans back in his chair, the wheels creak a little on the hardwood, catching against scuff marks.   

“A couch,” Matt reiterates when it becomes clear that Foggy isn’t going to say anything else. “That wasn’t here when I left yesterday, is in my office.”

Foggy gasps mock-scandalized, his breathing stutters in that certain way that means he’s trying not to laugh. “We must call the police,” he stage-whispers, “or better yet, the _Avengers.”_

Matt huffs, “why’s there a couch in my office Foggy?” he asks, trying not to let his smirk show. “My office isn’t exactly spacious.”

“It’s a nap couch,” Foggy says, like those words belong in a sentence together.

“A nap couch,” Matt repeats, not convinced. 

“Yu _p_ ,” Foggy says, popping the P. “My parents where getting rid of it during the move, so Karen and I snagged it.”

Matt shifts, feeling his eyebrows pulling together, his lips twitching as he stretches his senses back out to his office. Sure enough, it does smell like the Nelson’s- Anna’s perfume and Ed’s aftershave, cured-meat and cleaning product trying to cover that over.

“Wouldn’t it be smarter to keep it out in the waiting area?” Matt asks once his senses are firmly back in the room. “You know, for _clients_.”

“Nope,” Foggy says, pulling paperwork out of a desk drawer and clicking a pen, the picture of nonchalant and professional. “Because it’s the designated Nap Couch.” 

“ _Why_ is it the designated Nap Couch?”

“Because if you insist on coming into work when you’re beaten half to hell and/or bleeding, then you need a comfortable place to rest and recuperate.”

Matt soaks that in, pinching his lips together for a moment as he finds his words. “I’m not sleeping at work Foggy.”

“You don’t sleep at home, gotta sleep somewhere,” Foggy says matter-of-factly, not missing a beat.

“I…I sleep,” Matt defends, forcing himself not to cross his arms, lest he be seen as _pouting._ He can feel eyes on him, can hear Karen listening to their conversation from the other room, she is not subtle.

“Let’s agree to disagree,” Foggy says, tapping the pen on his desk. “Take the couch Matt,” he goes on, “it’s a nice couch, it’s a comfortable couch, it’s a _free_ couch.”

“…okay,” Matt agrees somewhat reluctantly, feeling unbalanced in this odd dynamic where Foggy and Karen know every facet of his life, and instead of trying to change it, just adjusting or making changes so both of Matt’s lives can coincide.

Matt turns to leave, perplexed, hand automatically reaching out for the doorframe more out of habit than necessity. But then he pauses, hearing an odd _‘blurp’_ noise coming from the dense glass-ball on Foggy’s corner table.

Matt cocks his head to the side, ear pointed at the thing. “What is that?” he asks, gesturing over to the orb.

Foggy looks up from his paperwork, they only have three small cases, but Foggy still gives them his full attention. “Oh,” he hums, “you can’t tell?”

Something closely related to indignation hits Matt, makes him close off abruptly. But Foggy’s tone is light and his heart keeps on track, there’s no judgment in the question, because there wouldn’t be, not with Foggy.  

“There’s no negative space,” Matt explains, dropping his guard. “It’s harder to get a reading on something so dense.” Not hard, impossible, but Matt’s not about to say that aloud.

“Oh,” Foggy says, something like understanding coloring his tone. “It’s a fishbowl,” he explains, “Ruthie gave me a goldfish as an office warming present.”

“That sounds like her,” Matt smiles, thinking of Foggy’s many nieces and nephews.

“It’s the classic orange,” Foggy tells him, “I’ll probably end up getting it a bigger tank later on.” He pauses, Matt can’t tell what he’s doing, glancing at the fish maybe. “I named it Fluffy.”

That gets a surprised laugh out of Matt, “you would,” he says.

“Never underestimate my knack for naming things Murdock,” Foggy jabs the pen at him. “I am a comedic genius.”

Matt rolls his eyes behind his glasses, headed back to his office, still smiling and pretending he isn’t.

“I’m naming the next one Swim Shady,” Foggy calls after him.

 “How about _James Pond,”_ Karen says back, not bothering to act like she wasn’t eavesdropping.

“Oh my, Cod,” Foggy says.

“You did not just do that,” Karen groans from her desk, biting back an amused, if not begrudging, laugh.

“Don’t trout my puns, Karen,” Foggy replies, still yelling from his office, he’s waving his pen around even if Karen can’t see him. That’s not for Matt’s benefit either, Foggy is just always theatrical.

“You’re krilling me Foggy,” Karen says.

“Can’t do any Betta than that?”

“I thought that was fin-tastic.”

Matt shakes his head as he passes Karen. “Don’t take the bait Karen,” he says in a serious undertone, he’s already in his office with the door closed when he hears Foggy and Karen pause.

“Wait…” Karen breathes at the same time that Foggy starts cracking up.                          

* * *

 

Matt thinks he’s a good liar.

And okay, he is, when it comes to lies of omission.

But now that Karen knows what to look for, now that she is _watching,_ she notices so much more than she had before.

Matt is a good actor, he makes grimaces look like polite smiles and twitching posture seem like a caffeine buzz. He uses his blindness to his advantage, keeping in his bubble and opting to hold to his cane instead of shaking client’s hands when he’s having an off day.

And to anyone else, these things wouldn’t have registered as anything significant, and before Karen _knew,_ they really hadn’t seemed all that odd, hadn’t been worth noting.  

But she’s on the watch now.

So, she notices, she notices when Matt’s grip on his cane is too tight, she notices when he walks stiffly, she notices when his smiles look more and more plastic, she notices when he gets that pinched expression on his face and his voice gets that tad bit strangled.

Foggy notices too, giving Karen a _Look_ as he and Matt take Mrs. Brendanawicz back to Foggy’s office for her consultation. It’s their patented **‘Matt Look’** , because in this relationship they need an expression that conveys _‘something’s wrong and we need to deal with it’_ without actually having to say the words aloud.

Karen and Foggy have been getting very good at reading each other’s expressions, also, secretly texting each other under the radar.

Their morning turns into an unexpected whirlwind, four scheduled appointments and three walk-ins. Their small waiting area is cramped with people and after the second surprise client, Matt and Foggy decide to start seeing people individually.

It’s like it was before, desperate people searching for help and coming to the right place, taking cases other lawyers turned down or weren’t willing to look into.

Karen’s job description is different now, but she has a lot of the same responsibilities. At times like this, she’s answering the phone and dealing with paperwork, seeing people out and promising to call later.

The Investigative part of the job isn’t something Karen can do with clients in the room, especially not when she isn’t sure what she might find. That’s something that happens behind the scenes, where Karen goes digging in shadows, dragging truth into the light.

It isn’t until almost two in the afternoon that Foggy walks Mr. González to the door, telling the man the punchline to some sort of joke Karen didn’t hear the beginning of, before he’s waving the man goodbye.

The door shuts and the office goes still for a moment, settling after all the chaos of their morning.

It feels so very reminiscent of how it used to be, it makes Karen smile as she says, “wow,” pushing a manila folder into a drawer as she stands up from her desk. “That brought back memories, huh?” she asks, something bright blooming in her chest.

Foggy smiles back, looking happier, more content then Karen’s seen him in a while. “Just like the good old days,” he agrees, stretching his arms above his head. “Except, less pie.”

Karen chuckles, tucking a strand of hair that’s fallen out of her bun behind her ear as she says, “forget pie, I need some real food.”

“Hey Murdock,” Foggy calls over to Matt’s office, “let’s go grab a bite before we get back to the grind.”

Matt walks out before he responds, “I could eat.” His voice comes out natural and ordinary, but his hair’s sticking up a little from where he must have run his hands through it and he’s leaning on the wall in a way he usually wouldn’t.

“Maybe we should order in?” Karen suggests, looking away from Matt and twitching an eyebrow at Foggy. “It’s kind of a blizzard out there.” Karen turns to give the guise of assessing the weather, the picture of nonchalant.

“You guys want Chinese?” Foggy asks, pulling out his phone and scrolling. “I could go for an eggroll.” He hums, neither of them ‘paying attention’ to Matt, when really that’s where all their focus is.

Matt seems to know anyway, he gets this confused, if not suspicious, expression on his face, but he doesn’t say anything- and that right there speaks _volumes_ to how he’s feeling.

Their food comes not fifteen minutes later, and then Foggy and Karen are tucked onto Matt’s Nap Couch while Matt takes a seat in his rolly-chair over to the side.

It’s quiet for a while, and Karen finds herself studying the frost that’s coated their windows, little snowflakes frozen perfectly on the glass.

“What’s snow like,” Karen asks before it registers that she had a question to begin with. “In the World on Fire, what’s snow like?”

Foggy sort of perks up from his slouch next to Karen, both of them glancing over to Matt as he puts his chopsticks back into the carton.

He takes a moment, his head cocking to the side as he shifts his sightless gaze back on them, the red tint of his glasses blocking out his eyes.

“It muffles everything,” he says, his left ear pointed at the window, hearing something that Karen’s own ears could never perceive. “It’s harder to track things, to tell how large or small an object really is.”

Karen leans forward, elbows braced on her knees, Chow Mein forgotten next to her thigh. “So you don’t like it then?” she asks.

Matt purses his lips, “I don’t dislike it, I used to like the snow when I was a kid, before…” he pauses, lets the sentence trail off, picking up a new one before Karen can ask. “But it’s kind of an inconvenience now.”

“That’s why you went out less in the Winter,” Foggy says, jabbing a finger at Matt. “I always figured you didn’t want to slip on ice or something.”

Matt smiles, “that is still a concern,” he says, and Karen isn’t sure if he meant it as a joke or a statement.

“I slipped on ice once,” Foggy continues, mouth full. “Brock my elbow.”

Karen hisses a sympathetic breath, “ouch,” she says, giving Foggy a quick assessing glance before she reaches over to Matt, swapping Matt her Chow Mein for his Kung Pao Chicken. “When was that?”

Foggy shrugs, leaning forward and stealing the Chow Mein from Matt before he can say anything, shoving the Egg Rolls into Matt’s hand as trade.

Matt looks begrudgingly amused throughout the whole exchange.  

“I was in high school, Candace thought the whole thing was hilarious,” Foggy answers, leaning back onto the couch.

Karen shakes her head, smiling to herself, feeling nostalgic and wistful in a soft sort of way. “How’d it happen?” she asks, shoving Foggy’s shoulder playfully with her own.

Foggy sighs long-sufferingly, “okay, so by ice, I may have meant I was ice-skating,” he starts.

Matt huffs out a laugh, letting his head fall back slightly as he places the food down on his desk. “Ooh, The _Ice-Skating Story.”_

“Hush Murdock, I am in the middle of spinning a wonderful tale at my own expense,” Foggy flaps an arm at Matt before he turns back to Karen with an air of teasing-disapproval aimed at his best friend. “At this time, I may have possibly been on a date,” Foggy says.

Karen smiles wider, hiding it behind her hands as she feels the tendrils of second-hand embarrassment coming on. “Oh no,” she whispers.

“And I sorta kinda insinuated that I was flippin’ fantastic at ice-skating,” Foggy goes on.

 _“Sorta Kinda,”_ Matt utters back.

Foggy throws one of his chopsticks at him, Matt catches it mid-air without so much as flinching, and Karen finds herself wondering if things like that will ever cease to be amazing.  

“I thought I was doing pretty good, all things considered,” Foggy continues, “I had only been ice-skating like two times. But I was suave and charming and totally rockin’ it. And then…”

“And then…” Matt repeats, like he’s heard this story so many times he knows all the right places to interject, like he already has each word memorized.

“The dreaded snowflake,” Foggy says in a mournful tone, voice dripping with staged-regret. “It went up my nose, and with it, my chances with Becky Louis were dashed.” Foggy drapes an arm over his eyes, ever the drama queen.  

“Basically, I sneezed and threw off my balance, and I took Becky down with me. I, however, landed wrong and broke my elbow. Ended up spending the night in the ER instead of with Becky. Theo and Candy never let me live it down.”

Karen shakes her head, laughing as she pictures a teenage Foggy- hurt arm and bruised ego, going home with a cast instead of the girl. She can imagine what his siblings would have said, how they would have teased him.

“That’s gotta be your worse date,” Karen says, though her tone suggests that it’s more a question than a statement.

“Oh-ho, no, no,” Foggy says, shaking his head as he draws out the words, waggling a finger in the air, not really pointing it in a particular direction. “Not even _close.”_

From there it doesn’t take long for the three of them to fall into storytelling, talking about worst dates and embarrassing moments. There are quite a few ridiculous experiences between them, anecdotes that leave Karen breathless and giggling.  

It’s when Matt’s in the middle of his own story- smile on his lips and glasses pulled off so Karen can see the laughter in his eyes, -that Foggy elbows her softly, giving Karen a little wink when she glances over.

Matt doesn’t seem to notice their exchange, just continues talking, words laced with mirth, posture relaxed, hands gesturing wide as he struggles to hold back his breathy chuckles.

And Karen immediately _gets it,_ so she smiles over at Foggy, squeezing his hand with her own. Because she understands, she recognizes the magnitude of this, that they have Matt back, that they are in the process of building another Firm together, that they get to have this second chance at all.

It’s a rarity, in this world, to get second chances.

So Karen just breathes this moment in, Foggy’s hand in her own, Matt’s voice clear and unburdened, she memorizes this cluster of seconds, holding them in her chest for safe keeping.                                   

* * *

 

Matt’s not as oblivious as Karen and Foggy seem to think he is.

Or maybe they’re not trying to be subtle in the first place.

He’s still trying to figure out how this rekindled friendship is supposed to work between them. There’s a sense of honesty that floats in all the spaces that used to be filled with secrets and lies, and Matt…Matt doesn’t know what to do with that.

Karen doesn’t pretend that the new cleaners in the cupboard aren’t for Matt, she doesn’t hide all the little things she does- how she pays more attention than Matt’s worth, seeming to catalog which textures he prefers, what smells leave him ridged, what sounds grate against his insides -and Matt doesn’t know how to acknowledge any of it, doesn’t know if he even _should._

In the same way, Foggy doesn’t downplay his worry, he makes sure their first aid kit hidden in one of the cabinets under the sink is always fully stocked, and he asks Matt about his bloodied knuckles and slight limp just because he wants to _know_. There isn’t any judgment in his voice when he asks, there isn’t any contempt or disapproval, and maybe with some more time, Matt will learn to stop listening for it.

And Matt, he’s trying to be honest too, because that’s all they’ve asked, that there be no more lies between them, that Matt come to them when he needs help, that he _speak up._

So, he answers when Karen asks him why he prefers one brand over another, even if he finds it painful to voice those things out loud. He allows Foggy to disinfect the small cuts and scrapes he wouldn’t normally give attention to. And he lets himself be freer with them, lets his senses play as much into their world as his own.

Somedays it still feels like too much, like Matt is just here taking- _always taking,_ and never giving. That he should ask Karen to stop ordering from the places he prefers and that he should tell Foggy that he can deal with bruises and cuts without his help.

Today is one of those days.

Today Matt walks into the office on two hours of interrupted sleep, a puffy hot bruise forming around his left eye and down to his jaw, his whole back throbbing from where he was thrown against a windshield- and feeling just this side of _done_.

There are no clients at the moment, Matt made sure before he trudged his way into the building, but even so, both Karen and Foggy fall silent when Matt walks in.

Hm, he must look about as good as he feels.

They don’t say anything, so Matt doesn’t say anything either.

He slides his knuckles along the wall to lead him to his office, because he’s off-kilter and his hip is acting up, and he’s feeling more blind today, his senses more muddled- and _damnit,_ this wouldn’t have happened if Matt didn’t have so much trouble with _snow._

There’s a Not So Silent conversation going on in the other room, lots of movement and hand gestures, Karen’s hair brushing against her sweater as she moves her shoulders, and Foggy’s ty rubbing against his button-up as he flaps a hand- and then Foggy is at Matt’s door, smacking his palms and his lips together as he waltzes in.

“I’m fine,” Matt says preemptively, he doesn’t need them babying him, he’s just having an off day, he’s allowed to have off days.

“That’s a dollar in the jar,” Foggy shoots back as he flops onto the couch, a puff of Anna’s perfume mixing with the smell of Foggy’s strawberry shampoo.

That’s another one of the Not So Subtle Things Foggy and Karen have been pushing at Matt, that Matt, in turn, refuses to acknowledge.

The ‘Nap Couch’, as Foggy calls it, has gradually been set up with pillows and other soft things that taste of Karen’s homemade candles. A plush knitted-blanket that smells of both Foggy and Marci appeared draped over the back of the sofa two days ago- and Matt _knows_ what they are doing, he knows that they are trying to make the couch more enticing.

But Matt hasn’t used it, he doesn’t need a designated resting zone in their place of work, no matter what Karen and Foggy might think. He doesn’t need to be indulged, spoiled in ways he doesn’t deserve, doesn’t want, doesn’t _need._

“I never agreed to the jar,” Matt says, running his fingers over some paperwork, not registering what he’s reading.

“Me and Karen outvote you,” Foggy makes a what-can-you-do gesture that Matt knows more by the way of his breathing than the movement itself. “You can call us out on our lies, so we get to do it back to you, fairs fair bud.”

Matt breathes out a sigh, goes to rub his eyes under his glasses- and stops before his fingers can irritate his bruising. “Fine, I’ll put a dollar in,” he concedes, and then tries to get back to work, hoping he’s giving off the _leave-me-alone_ vibes that he feels.

 _“Ma~tt,”_ Foggy draws out his name, makes it sing-song.  

 _“Fo~ggy,”_ Matt does it right back, the vibration of it is jarring, almost makes the word crack halfway through.

“C’mon man,” Foggy sighs as he rolls himself onto his feet, his nice shoes squeaking against the hardwood. “You gotta work with me here. Lies of omission are still lies, and our friendship contract _clearly states_ —” 

“We don’t have a friendship contract, Foggy.”

“—that we all gotta be honest with each other,” Foggy continues, not losing any of his momentum even as he talks over Matt. “So tell me where you’re hurt and then why don’t ya take a little siesta on the couch.”

“I’m not a child, Foggy,” Matt says, doing his best not to let the words form into the growl they want to be.

“Nope, you’re not,” Foggy replies lightly as he strolls back out of Matt’s office. “You’re a self-destructive vigilante that doesn’t know what’s good for him.”  

Matt hears him pull open their small fridge on the other side of the wall, there’s a shuffle of something with thick-liquid and then Foggy’s ducking down to grab- _hard-plastic sliding against wood, rattle of paper inside_ -the first aid kit.

Foggy sets the kit on the couch as he comes back in, clearing his throat as he faces Matt. “Here’s what we’re gonna do,” he starts, “we’re gonna put some bruise ointment on that rainbow face of yours, then you’re gonna come lay on this couch with an icepack on your back and if you _happen_ to fall asleep then that’s A-OK.”

Matt heaves a sigh as he gets up stiffly, he’d like to argue, but his brain isn’t really up to par at the moment. Not to mention arguing with Foggy is a challenge on a normal day, the man is a damn good lawyer, and he does not mind using that legal wit and stamina against Matt.

Plus, Matt can’t even fathom turning down an icepack right now.

“How’d you know about my back?” he asks as he takes a seat next to his best friend.

Foggy plucks Matt’s glasses from his face before the cap to the bruise cream comes off, smelling of arnica and alcohol. “You weren’t leaning back in your chair at all, and you’re super stiff,” he discloses, the first of the cold balm going onto Matt’s cheekbone. “You’ve got your radar and I’ve got mine.”

That gets a tentative smile out of Matt, one that he doesn’t fight even as it tweaks his aching face. “You mean sight?” he asks.

Foggy trails a finger onto Matt’s forehead, he hadn’t thought the bruising reached up that far. Matt wonders how he must appear to the rest of the world, wonders if he looks anything like his dad used to, beaten up and swollen, red with blood and the tellings of a good fight.

“I miss nothing,” Foggy says, rubbing in the cream over the worst of the throbbing pain around Matt’s left eye. “I see all,” he goes on. “20/20 vision, you can’t hide from me, Murdock.”

Matt snorts, tries to roll his eyes, but gives up halfway through the motion.

He lets Foggy fix his face, sitting somewhere between wakefulness and sleepiness, listening to Foggy’s steady heartbeat and his teasing words. Drifting in and out of focus and not caring who sees, because it’s just Foggy here.

So when Foggy coaxes Matt to lay on his stomach so he can take a look at Matt’s back he doesn’t protest, not even when Foggy decides he needs some of the ointment on his back too.

Matt must have dozed off somewhere between the moment he pressed his nose to a soft pillow that smells of Karen’s apartment and the first few swipes of cold balm and Foggy’s fingers on his aching back.

Because when Matt’s awareness comes back to him, his shoes are missing and Foggy is carefully laying the icepack on his back, draping the blanket that tastes more of Marci than Foggy over Matt a beat later.

In another moment, at another time, one where Matt isn’t half-asleep and drained from pain and too many soft things that he knows he does not deserve, maybe he wouldn’t say this, maybe he’d lock the words deep inside himself.

But when Matt snakes his arm out from under the blanket to lightly wrap his fingers around Foggy’s wrist before the other man can leave, whispering a soft genuine, _“thank you,”_ to his friend, it feels like the right thing to say, the _only thing_ to say.

If Karen and Foggy can be honest with each other, with him, then Matt can try his hand in honesty too.

Because he _is_ thankful, he is so incredibly grateful to his friends, he just doesn’t know how to voice it, how to tell them how much he appreciates the effort, the myriad of chances they have granted him.

Matt will always be indebted to Foggy and Karen, he will always owe them far more than he can ever repay. He knows that, and perhaps that’s part of what makes calm moments like this so hard to breathe through, knowing that with every soft-spoken word, every tender-touch, every kind-gesture, that Matt’s debt is getting that much higher, that much deeper, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

But Matt has come to the terrifying realization that he wouldn’t try to stop this even if he could. And isn’t it funny, that soft things like this are what Matt truly finds frightening.

And maybe Foggy doesn’t get all of that from Matt’s two measly words, but as he grips Matt’s fingers back, patting his arm as he leans down slightly, whispering so low only Matt could possibly hear, _“you’re welcome,”_ Matt thinks he understands enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to do a story with these characters for a while, but I find them very intimidating to write so I've held off, but I will definitely be writing more in this fandom now that we will have to make our own content... *sobs*
> 
> I have a few more chapters planned for this, but until then please leave me your thoughts. :)


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